Eyewitness (Thriller/Legal Thriller - #5 The Witness Series) (The Witness Series #5)

by Forster, Rebecca

  “Dead is dead, Mr. Newton. This court cannot be swayed by who the victims were in life. If you have evidence, we will then talk about keep away in county jail, but not until you bring me something solid.”

  Josie’s heart stopped. It never occurred to her that anyone would consider such a radical move. In keep away, Billy would be isolated in a setting where there was no concern for his age or temperament. Jail was jail and isolation would make it even more gruesome.

  “Mr. Newton has no such evidence,” Josie objected again, unnerved by how much latitude the judge was giving the deputy D.A..

  “And Ms. Bates is ignoring the fact that this boy might be a danger to himself. Consider the reason he is in the hospital. It was sheer madness to go into the ocean in a storm. That action could be construed as suicidal. I would have to ask why he wanted to kill himself? One answer might be that he had just killed two people and assaulted a third and did not want to be brought to justice.”

  “Billy has no history of violence, depression, or suicide attempts. His record shows only minor infractions that plague half the juveniles in California,” Rita interjected and Josie was grateful. Newton, though, was not to be put off.

  “This is a complicated situation,” Carl Newton agreed. “However, we cannot ignore statistics, and statistics favor someone close to the victims. The person with access to the scene and a personal connection at least to Rosa Zuni is Billy Zuni.”

  “Fine. Alright,” Healy intervened. “Ms. Bates, in your perfect world, where do you see this boy?”

  “ILP. Independent living supervised by Child Protective Services is the appropriate decision.”

  “Do you really think putting that boy back in a house where people were murdered would be beneficial to his physical or mental state?” Rita scoffed.

  Josie turned her head, locking down this woman’s attention. They were supposed to be on the same side, but it didn’t appear that was the way this was going to go.

  “No, I do not,” Josie said. “But if the court grants him that status, I will personally see that he is settled somewhere that is both safe for him and meets the requirements of the district attorney’s office as they continue their investigation.”

  She appealed to Judge Healy, the only person in that room who really mattered.

  “Your Honor, Billy has no means, physical ability, or stomach for flight. He is devoted to his mother, and his only concern has been for her. Also consider that Billy is part of the fabric of Hermosa Beach. I can provide affidavits from citizens willing to transition Billy back into the community until either the District Attorney no longer finds him a person of interest – which he has not stipulated at this point - or his mother is well enough to exert parental rights. That would seem to be in the best interest of this child.”

  “In this case it doesn’t take a village, Ms. Bates,” Healy sighed. Her solution was not going to be considered. “I cannot turn Billy over to a town. It’s hard to believe no one has come forward. No relative, not even a friend of the mother.”

  “That is precisely the point,” Carl Newton concurred. “Billy has never had any supervision, and I can document that. The mother’s youth might be a factor, but if she was neglectful of Billy while she was well, her judgment now that she is so desperately injured must be questioned. It is the court’s responsibility to act in his best interest, certainly, but you give weight to the broader criminal issues. You truly cannot separate the two at this point.”

  “But, I believe that the court should err in consideration of Billy Zuni as a victim,” Rita insisted.

  “And little Billy can skip off to the beach Scott free,” Newton muttered, surprising everyone with this cut, but only Josie took exception.

  “Why is the District Attorney even at this meeting?” she demanded. “He undermines the seriousness of this problem. He would only be happy with a keep-away placement in county jail. If that happened, Billy could never go back to the community. I’ve seen it happen to a teenager before. The consequences are devastating and the dangers incalculable. I won’t let it happen again.”

  “Ms. Bates,” Judge Healy warned, “I am the one who says what will and will not happen to this boy. Is that clear?”

  Josie detected a note of empathy under the judge’s reprimand, but he had no idea how deeply personal this was. She had been wrong to let it show.

  “My apologies,” she murmured.

  The judge cut his eyes to Carl Newton. The reprimand sent to the deputy D.A. was equally sharp.

  “Mr. Newton. You are here as a courtesy because you requested it. If you are planning to charge this boy tell me now, and we’ll have a different conversation.”

  Newton shook his head.

  “Then we are all agreed,” Healy turned back to Josie. “Ms. Potter notes that Billy was regularly turned out of his house.”

  “This is true, but beach culture is unique, Your Honor. ”

  “I would suggest that cultural parameters are not your strongest argument,” Healy warned. “There are laws against vagrancy and curfews. It sounds as if Billy was as good as homeless, so arguing that I release him to independent living in a community that had no care for him before this incident isn’t appropriate. I will not consider it.”

  Rita Potter jumped in again.

  “Judge, we really only have one choice and that is foster care. Given that, all we have to do is decide on the venue. I am concerned about a halfway house because of his injuries, but I also am aware that we don’t want to put any citizen at risk. Foster parents without minors in the home would be the first choice.”

  “Mr. Newton? Last go-round. Speak now,” Healy passed the ball.

  “Billy Zuni is a seventeen year old boy with raging hormones,” Carl Newton noted. “What a young man does and what he says are often two different things at that age. We must be extraordinarily vigilant.”

  “Okay, then. I’ve got a full calendar this afternoon and I’d like to at least get a sandwich before I address it. So, listen up. Here’s the deal. Ms. Potter. I am ordering a full psychological work-up.”

  “In anticipation, Your Honor, I’ve already been in contact with Doctor Hardy. He’s set aside time tomorrow.”

  “I’d like to have a doctor of my choosing also examine Billy,” Josie stated.

  “Do as you wish, Ms. Bates, but I will rely on county counsel,” the judge said. “Ms. Potter, interface with the hospital doctors also. Find out if there are going to be any physical limitations or special needs that might affect his placement. I want that along with the psychological work-up. I want a list of approved options and that means specific families willing to accept him. Ms. Potter, you will also communicate appropriately with Ms. Bates, Mr. Newton, and all other interested parties.”

  “Yes, Judge,” she answered.

  “Mr. Newton, your office will coordinate with Ms. Potter on an hourly basis if that’s what it takes. I do not want a public fight about this boy’s situation just to satisfy your egos. Is that clear?”

  Everyone nodded.

  “If there is nothing urgent in the next forty-eight hours, we will be back here. . .”

  He consulted his calendar, picked up a pen, and made a notation while he spoke.

  “Day after tomorrow at three o’clock. We will entertain witness, but stay on topic. I will make a ruling based on the information we have that day. Mr. Newton, you are excused from that hearing unless you bring something concrete to the table. That’s it.”

  Everyone made motions to move on but Josie had one last card she wanted to play even though she knew the game was over.

  “Judge? We didn’t discuss the KSSP.”

  “It’s a moot point, Ms. Bates. There is no relative to whom I can release him.” Judge Healy dismissed her out of hand.

  From the corner of her eye she thought she saw Rita Potter and Carl Newton exchange a look. Rita stepped forward to add her two cents even though the judge had been clear. It was the failing of lawyers to want to always have
the last word for the record.

  “Ms. Bates has a private investigator looking for a relative. Even if he identifies someone, let’s see what kind of attention he or she gives Billy after the county places him. That way we can determine the true level of interest.”

  Josie pleaded with the judge. “If I find a responsible relative in the next forty-eight hours, will you at least consider kinship placement? Or release him to independent living. I will personally vouch for Billy remaining in the jurisdiction.”

  “Will he be living under your roof, Ms. Bates?” Carl interjected.

  The last-word bug bit them all much to Judge Healy’s dismay. He tossed his pen onto the table.

  “Ms. Bates is his legal advocate not his guardian. That would be a conflict of interest I would not allow. That’s it, if you weren’t clear before. I’m done. You’ve all got your marching orders. See you in two days.”

  They pushed their chairs back from the table, but the judge had one more word for Josie.

  “Ms. Bates, I expected more from you. From now on, let’s keep it real.”

  Josie couldn’t argue with him. She had expected more from herself.

  CHAPTER 15

  2004

  Teuta ducked behind a street stall that sold leeks and potatoes and little else. It was late afternoon and the men were xhiroing, walking round and round the streets of the town before stopping to talk, take coffee, smoke, and drink raki as was their custom. Sometimes it was hard to gyro, for there were many more cars these days, most taken from other countries.

  Teuta was happy that her husband did not take a car that he did not know where it came from even though his distant relative often tried to give him one. Teuta and her husband were cautious people. They did not like receiving a gift for no reason, and Teuta did not like strangers driving through her town. She did not like the foreigners who walked across the mountain for fun. Those people acted like the villagers were children who didn’t understand pity when they heard voices filled with it. Pity was pity, no matter what the language. Pity made Teuta angry, as did the poverty, and her children not having warm clothes.

  But what was one to do?

  Since the answer was nothing, Teuta thought instead of the goodness in her life. Her husband had found work in the chrome mine thanks to the American who had come to their home. It was hard work and did not pay much, but her husband was proud again. They were blessed. So many of the men sold vegetables on the street corner like the man who owned this stand in which she hid herself. He used to be a foreman at the factory where they made glass. Now he was nothing.

  “Can I help you?”

  Startled, Teuta whirled around, holding her bag to her breast. She laughed a little, thinking how silly it was when the panic came upon her. She shouldn’t be hiding among the vegetables without knowing what she was hiding from. It was a feeling, nothing more. It was fright because she did not know the people in the cars and on the street.

  Because she did not want this man to know she was fearful, Teuta pointed to a very big leek. He was pleased. It was the most expensive leek he had so he spoke of it while he wrapped it: how it came from soft earth, how it had suddenly one day been perfect, how he knew she would cook it just so. She paid no attention, only handed over her money knowing she could ill-afford to be buying this vegetable when she grew the same in her own garden. Ah well, better that than explain that she was afraid and hiding from nothing.

  Teuta left the stall deciding it was the heat that made her heart beat faster, and her sweat making her headscarf moist. Perhaps it was that the man from America was back. He was coming to dinner, and Teuta wished to make him a fine meal to thank him for helping her husband. She would make byrek with this leek and they would talk about the byrek and the children would stand quietly.

  Teuta was smiling when she joined the gyro, made her way up the street and turned toward the school. She arrived just as the old man whose job it was to ring the hand bell did so. Children poured out of the building and she shook her head at the girls. There was no work for men, what would there be for girls who were educated? But her husband insisted that all his children go to school. Teuta didn’t like the little one to be out of her sight to go to school, and yet she sent him as her husband wished.

  Standing at the top of the crumbling stairs that led to the building, Teuta craned her neck and saw her beautiful daughters. They waved at her and then looked back at the English teacher who had come from America. He worked for no money. He was a volunteer and that meant he did what his government told him even if he didn’t want to. Now her daughters giggled behind their hands at him, thinking they were in love. He would be gone soon, and another would come. These girls would not get to America by marrying a handsome foreign teacher. Teuta would not like it if her girls married a man who did not have brains enough to get paid for his labor. Her girls laced their arms as they veered off toward the far end of town. Young girls walking alone together without their father or brother was something new. Then she saw her son.

  “Besnik! Besnik!” she called.

  The other mothers looked at her, then they looked at her son. Who could not look at him? This beautiful boy whose eyes were so bright, whose smile was more glorious than the sun, whose heart was bigger than any in the entire village.

  “Nënë!” Even his voice rang with beauty.

  Her boy came alongside her and they began to walk together. Already he was talking to her, taking her hand even though he was old for such a thing. That was when she heard a car behind them. She nudged her son aside to let it go by, but it slowed. It stopped. She was called.

  “Teuta? That is you, is it not?”

  A little breeze fluttered the end of her scarf. She was still smiling at something her son had said, but that smile faded when she saw who was speaking to her.

  “Gjergy. I thought you had gone to Shkodra.” She said this even though she could see he had no interest in her. He was looking at her son who smiled his glorious smile back at the man.

  “So, this is your son. He is a fine boy.” Gjergy slid his eyes back to her. “He is seven, now. Seven years old. And Yilli. Is he well?”

  “My father is dead.” Teuta was sure he knew this full well, but she could not help herself and answered him anyway. It was cruel of him to ask.

  “Ah.” Gjergy’s eyes went back to the little tow-headed boy. “And your boy goes to school, does he?”

  “He walks with me, Gjergy. He is a child.”

  “You are a man, are you not?” Gjergy teased and the child smiled wider.

  “He is a child,” Teuta reiterated.

  “And your daughters? I see you let them walk without a man.”

  “They walk together. It is modern times.” Teuta’s gaze followed the man as he considered the girls standing next to the store that sold clothing. Gjergy’s eyes lingered on them and then came back to her.

  “It is a shame Yilli is dead. Your oldest daughter, she is beautiful. All your children are beautiful, Teuta.”

  “They are a blessing,” Teuta said.

  “Or a curse,” Gjergy countered. “Only God knows which.”

  He drove off. Teuta could see that he did not look at the road. Gjergy did not have a care for the men walking or the women shopping for their vegetables. She saw that he looked into the mirror. She saw that he looked at her and the boy who still held her hand, who still smiled, and the daughters who still giggled, probably speaking of the American who came to teach them a language they had no need of.

  2013

  “Here. Take this.”

  Sam Lumina handed his wife, Mary, a glass of wine and then stood beside her to watch the people milling around the small house. In one corner there was a group of men, tightly circled around Mark Wolf who was taking being pissed off at Marshall Fasteners to new heights. Sam would have to talk to him. A funeral wasn’t the place to get on a soapbox about work. There were people here who weren’t brothers. You never knew who might not share your opinion, you nev
er knew who might think you were more than just talk. People misinterpreted stuff all the time. Just look at Jak Duka. He was an idiot. It was because he was an idiot that he was dead.

  Sam took a drink. It wasn’t Mark’s rant that was making him nervous; it was the icy anger shooting off his wife. He followed her gaze to the group of ashen-faced women huddled around Jak’s widow. They offered spoken words of condolence and silent prayers of thanks that they were not in that woman’s shoes. Children ran through the living room, reached up to the table laden with food, grabbed a cookie or a cold cut, and went on their way again, trailing little bubbles of laughter. Even Jak’s own kids didn’t really get it, and Sam’s son was right there with the big boys, shoving and pushing.

  By the window, the old man spoke to two others even older than he. Their heads shook back and forth as they agreed with what he was saying. One of them raised a fist and shook it. Sam’s wife’s attention had moved from the women to the old men.

  “Good grief. You’d think those guys had lived here long enough to figure out that we nod to agree and shake our head to disagree. And why is your uncle still here? I hate that old man. Why is he still here?” Sam’s wife groused. “That’s all I want to know.”

  “Because he’s my uncle,” Sam snapped.

  “He’s your uncle that you haven’t seen in thirty-years, for God sake,” Mary sniped. “He didn’t know Jak, and still you trot him out like he’s something special. Those old guys act like they’ve known him forever.”

  “You’re so damn American.” Sam took a drink of his beer thinking that was a funny thing for her to say. The old man said the same thing about Sam. That was the only thing the old man had been wrong about. Sam knew where his loyalties lay.

  “I don’t mind you having a relative in, but he’s just weird.” She waved her wine glass his way. “He doesn’t talk to me. He doesn’t say please or thank you.”